


Not Today

by Arnie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Missing Scene, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-22
Updated: 2012-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-29 23:05:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arnie/pseuds/Arnie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John, some time after Reichenbach Fall.</p><p>Note: Contains suicidal thoughts.  May be triggering.  Not a death fic.<br/>Contains spoilers for Reichenbach Fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Today

John isn't sure when it begins to creep back into his mind. Maybe it was there from the start, from when life changed so drastically. Before, there'd been Sherlock. Before Sherlock - and John thinks it's highly ironic the initials spell BS - well, he'd come close a few times. He'd still been fighting, clinging on. Trying desperately not to give in.

But now, without Sherlock, it's so much harder.

His first conscious recognition of _it_ being back is in A &E. There's an elderly lady who's been hit by a bus. John knows it's probably futile, but the doctor in him can't stop trying to save her. It's only when he fails, when the last of her life has trickled through his fingers and he steps back, her face slack and the bruises already beginning to show, that he realises he envies her. For her, it's over. No more fighting, no more struggling to keep going just one more day because maybe, possibly, tomorrow will be a little bit better. She's at peace now.

John closes his eyes and tries to focus his mind on his job. There's always another patient in A&E. He finds it hard, sometimes, to walk away after his shift, wanting so much to turn back, to take another patient, soothe their pain and their fear, or just patch up their scrapes. Today though, the challenge is to keep his mind where it should be; to compartmentalise his emotions, block them off and let him function. For now, anyway.

Later, he goes home, such as it is; the tiny bedsit he can afford is nothing like 221b, but he can't call that home any more. He sits in his chair and gazes at the wall. He's been through this before; it doesn't have to rule his life. It doesn't have to mean anything. He closes his eyes and fights down the desire to not exist, to not _be._ For it all to stop.

He clenches his fist to control the tremor. It's fine. He'll be fine. Last time, he was saved by Sherlock - brought back to life by a man who thought so little of his own, he tossed himself off the top of a building. John takes a breath and lets it out slowly, counting the seconds until his heart calms. He's okay. Today...today, he's okay.

~~~

The next day, he's back in work, as usual. Where else would he be, he wonders. No more juggling his schedule, risking his job, to keep up with...well, that's gone. Best not to dwell.

So he focusses his mind again, reassures Mrs. Thomas that no, shoving a lego brick up one's nose isn't fatal, even if one is three years old. He retrieves the brick, persuades little Billy that a sticker with a footballer on it is a far better prize (and hopefully that won't end up up the kid's nose too) and drops the lego piece into the bin. His job is calling to him and, like always, John answers.

Seven patients (three broken bones, a concussion, two knife wounds, and an ear infection) later and John's feeling okay. Not great, but steadier. He goes off to lunch and detours on the way back to visit Sherlock's grave. He doesn't want Sherlock to feel forgotten, for all that the world has managed to move on without him. The celebrity, the notoriety has faded, and 'confirmed bachelor' John Watson is Doctor John Watson once more. But he can't forget Sherlock, not that he wants to. Visiting the grave is just enough, John finds. He can't go to the Yard or 221b - can't even visit Mrs. Hudson there, though they meet in cafes or while visiting Sherlock, share reminiscences, and try to smile, acting as though it's okay and he's not really gone. Gentle things, surface things. Just in case they rip the wound open and find it's not so healed as they'd hoped.

But no, John can't forget. He sees Sherlock a thousand times a week - in the set of a pair of shoulders, a mop of dark, curly hair, a smile, a voice...and his heart stutters for a second before he realises the person is the wrong height, the wrong weight, the wrong sex, or has the wrong features, but the brief, fleeting similarity is enough to make him stop and hope, just for one horrific instant.

Back to work and back into the chaos, and John has patients galore. Another child (this time stuck wearing a helmet that doubles as a pan), another knife wound, a broken arm, and an overdosed addict. The last one is the worst for John. The long, thin figure could be a stand in for Sherlock on his worst days, the track marks up the arms a reminder of the life Sherlock led before he somehow broke free of the drugs. John fights to save the lad who can't even be twenty yet, fights to rouse the flicker of life into a burning ember, but it's too little, too late. He steps back from the body, his eyes on the boy's face, and swallows as envy sweeps over him.

He's not doing this. He knows he's not. He's not going to leave Mrs. Hudson without both of her tenants - not that he counts as a tenant any more. So he breathes slowly and turns away as the siren call of the serenity of the grave sounds in his mind.

End.


End file.
